These golden hops can’t hold a mug to your full-bodied, effervescent beauty. I want to get buzzed on you.
Your boyfriend,
Connor
P.S. I was told that poems don’t have to rhyme, which is good because nothing rhymes with full-bodied OR effervescent. Also, I suppose two sentences probably don’t qualify as poetry. I remember ARISE FAIR SUN AND KILL THE ENVIOUS MOON from a Shakespeare course I took in college—does quoting that count for something?
P.P.S. You get it, though, right? I like you more than this beer. ;)
“He’s a good boy,” my dad said, smiling as he tore into the food.
“He’s okay,” I said, feeling a little weak as I opened the box with the bruschetta.
This is fake, this is fake, this is fake.I knew it, but I wanted to remind myself, because a girl could get used to this treatment. This was probably normal romantic behavior (on an NFLer scale) in a new relationship (that wasn’t fake), but I’d usually been demoted to a friend before the gifting portion of the program ever began.
And I couldn’t believe it, but as my dad and I wolfed down delicious Italian food, I realized my brothers were right. My dad’s sudden amusement over the Connor situation put a halt to his complaints about the oxygen. Instead of growling about the “damn nose rope” and how it was going to mess with everything normal in his life, he was talking about my new “boyfriend” and all the amazingness that seemed to surround him.
It was nice to see him relaxed and acting more like his old self. Comforting. I actually felt good about the lie by the time I got into bed, because my dad deserved a little bit of joy.
—
But the next day was trash, of course.
Because from the minute my eyes opened, I couldn’t stop thinking about one year ago.
That she was still with us.
That on this day last year, I talked to her on the phone over my lunch break and she told me about the new hair color she wanted to try out. That on this night last year, she texted me about the episode of theReal Housewivesshe was watching.
That one year ago, I’d had no idea I’d never hear her voice again.
I woke up to all those thoughts at once, and when I went into the kitchen, I could see my dad was having them, too. He’d never mention that, of course, but he didn’t say a single word from the moment I walked into the kitchen until I left for work (we were both going in for a few extra Saturday hours). He didn’t mention the weather, he didn’t mention football, he didn’t mention how runny the eggs that I made were; his brain was far away from me.
Which made me realize I couldn’t leave him that night.
Even though the anniversary of her death wasn’t until tomorrow, I’d completely missed the fact that today was the anniversary of her last day of life.
I texted Connor, disappointed to cancel because somehow, landing that “official” second date felt imperative to the getting-past-the-friend-zone thing. Ellie called it anessential goaland insisted I needed to do everything short of murder to ensure that the date happened ASAP.
Please don’t be mad, but I have to cancel for tonight; I think my dad’s going to need me. Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of my mom’s passing.
Connor:Are you okay?
God.
Was I okay? WasIokay?
Something about the question, the fact that he was asking me, checking in on my feelings, made me feel like crying. I blinked fast, trying to keep it together because I didn’t want to let that simple question trigger a crying jag I was unable to stop.
But also, it kind of felt like no one had asked me that in a really long time. It’d been a year of chaos—and sadness—but through it all, it’d seemed like I was always the one asking that question to everyone else.
Me:Yes, but I don’t want him to be alone tonight.
Connor:Good call. And you’re a really good daughter btw.
Me:Don’t be nice, for God’s sake. Makes it harder to keep emotions in check.
Connor:I should be an asshole?